The Love That Passed

Colleen’s POV

“Hubby, can I borrow some money?” I asked sweetly, my voice laced with warmth and false confidence, even though the icy glare he shot me was enough to freeze me in place. How could I not pretend to be close to him when I’m technically his wife?

“Why would I give you anything?” Jared snapped, fury seeping through every word like venom. “Do you really think that just because I agreed to marry you, you automatically get whatever you want from me? Just like that?” His tone was laced with disgust, as if even talking to me was beneath him.

I should’ve known better. I don’t even know why I still tried approaching him. Deep down, I knew, he would never say yes.

***

That happened two years ago, right after our wedding which only took place because his mother wanted it so badly. At the time, I had just found out that, after waiting what felt like an eternity, a donor heart had finally become available.

It was a match. My heart, my broken, failing heart finally had a chance. Can you imagine that kind of hope? That flicker of a second chance?

Of course, I approached Jared. He was wealthy beyond reason. I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d care enough to help me stay alive a little longer.

But he didn’t. He refused outright.

He hated me, and honestly, I understood. As I said, he was forced into this marriage by his mother and older sister. He didn’t love me. He never did. He was already in love with someone else, Stacey. His girlfriend of four years before we got married. I’m pretty sure he had plans to propose to her. But then I came along and ruined everything.

I didn’t ask for this. I wasn’t the villain in this story. He could’ve said no. But the stakes were too high for him. His family, inheritance, and his mother’s health led him to say yes, even though his heart screamed no.

Jared made it very clear that he loved Stacey and that nothing I did would ever change that. I hope he broke up with her after the wedding. But I know better and I pretend not to care.

I’m not a selfish person. But come on, who would want to share their husband with someone else? Even if we don’t love each other, marriage still comes with responsibilities. When two people agree to be bound together, even for convenience or pressure, they owe each other at least the decency of respect and honesty.

Two years into our marriage, I’ve managed to breathe a little easier. Stacey hasn’t shown up on our doorstep claiming to be pregnant with Jared’s child, yet. I don’t know what I’d do if that day came. Even if I don't love my husband, I still respect the vows we took.

I’m hoping— no, praying that he does too. But if not, as long as he keeps his secrets buried and the world stays oblivious, I’ll find a way to be okay with it. I’ll endure.

Because of his money I agreed to marry him. But that's not all. There's more to it. And unlike most people who have horror stories about their in-laws, mine are the complete opposite. His family treats me like one of their own. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged somewhere. Like I mattered.

I know in my heart that if Jared ever did something terrible to me, his own family wouldn’t forgive him. That’s how deeply they’ve come to love me. And I cling to that love like it’s all I have because in many ways, it is.

I come from a broken home. My mother divorced my father after he lost his job and couldn’t provide for us. Their arguments started when I was just eight years old, and it was all about money. The money we never had. That’s why I grew up hating money, even though the world seemed to worship it.

By the time I was sixteen, my parents were officially separated. Both of them eventually started new families. You’d think that would make me happy. No more shouting. No more fights. Peace, at last.

At first, I was happy. But then… they both moved on, without me.

They built new lives, new homes, and new loves, and neither of them thought to include me in any of them. Not even a phone call. Not even a message. I was left behind like a piece of their old life they wanted to forget. Like I was a reminder of a mistake.

My mother said she didn’t want me because I reminded her too much of my father. And my father? He didn’t want me either because I reminded him of her. He told me she was greedy. But what broke me the most was that I used to be a daddy’s girl. He was my safe place. My hero. I used to run into his arms for every scraped knee and heartbreak.

And just like that, he left.

He forgot me.

So no… I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be happy. Not when the people who were supposed to love me first chose to love someone else instead.

So that's how I ended up living alone.

For eight long years, I survived on my own, content, quiet, and steady. I never asked for much. All I wanted was a roof over my head and regular meals on the table.

I juggled school and work, and by some stroke of luck, despite the corruption everywhere, there were still government programs that helped someone like me get a free college education. So I focused on just two things: studying and working, all because I wanted to survive this world on my own terms.

It took me longer to get my degree than most people, mainly due to financial struggles. But I was still satisfied with what I had achieved. It's not easy to study and work at the same time. I couldn't afford to spend on anything else. No leisure, no wants, just basic school supplies, and my daily needs.

Even when I started earning money, my focus remained the same. I didn't even bother looking at men, no matter how persistent some of them were in trying to get my attention.

I thought I was doing okay. I thought I was content. But life has a cruel sense of humor.

I was doing everything right. Working hard, being fair, minding my own life. Then, one day, I went for a check-up because I was having trouble breathing. And just like that, my whole world collapsed. It was like the sky fell and crushed me beneath it.

Why is it that just when you start feeling a bit of peace, the world reminds you that you're not meant to be happy?

Turns out I had a condition. The kind of sickness that only the wealthy could afford to treat. Dr. Gerard told me that my heart was weak and that I needed to be gentle with myself. He stayed by my side, monitoring me constantly and guiding me through every step.

But it was too late.

The shortness of breath I kept dismissing? It was a warning sign. I ignored it because I was young and thought youth meant invincibility. But that carelessness was the beginning of my slow death.

It's not just one foot in the grave anymore. This sickness is the kind that drains not just your body but also your savings and your hope. Dr. Gerard didn't sugarcoat it. He told me I had three years to live unless I underwent surgery that could possibly extend my life. But that surgery? It cost more than anything I ever owned.

I accepted it. I stopped hoping. I made peace with the time I had left.

I married Jared not for love but for his mother, Mommy Claire. She treated me like her own daughter, with kindness I didn't deserve. She, too, was ill. I wanted her to feel happy, even just a little before either of us ran out of time. So I said yes. At least this way, there would be some kind of spark in the dwindling candle of my life.

Now, it's been exactly two years since we got married. And not once has my husband looked at me like a wife, not unless we had to discuss something important to him. Nothing about us.

We barely see each other even though we live under the same roof. When I wake up, he's already gone. When he returns, I'm already asleep. But despite that, I try and do my duties as his wife. I make sure he has everything he needs in the morning.

And you know what? I feel a flicker of happiness every time I see the suit I laid out is no longer on the hanger. It's small, almost meaningless, but for someone like me, it's enough to feel a sense of fulfillment.

Every night, I prepare the clothes he'll wear the next day before he gets home so he doesn't have to look for them in the morning. At first, he ignored them completely. But after nine months, maybe he got tired of pretending not to see it. He started wearing them without a word.

Even though he never eats at home, I still leave food for him on the table every night. Just in case he gets hungry in the middle of the night. And sometimes, for rare moments, I see his used plate in the sink the next morning. It's nothing grand, nothing I could tell the world about. But for me, it means everything.

If he ever accepts me, even after twenty years, I would still be grateful. I know I'd be overjoyed. Who wouldn't be if they could finally live a normal life with the person they married?

I don't even ask him to love me. I won't. Because in the end, he'd only be the one to suffer because I'd have to leave him behind. That is if I even make it to twenty years.

Truth is, now, I only have one year left.

Still, I'm happy. So happy that I've had the chance to love someone. For so long, the only person I ever cared about was myself. Now, I have Jared. And even though he doesn't see me, not the way I wish he would, I feel more alive loving him than I ever did surviving alone.

I want to hope that he'll change. But I'm afraid of hurting him later on. Maybe this is enough, this quiet love I carry for him, even though his heart belongs to someone else.

At least when I'm gone, I'll have peace of mind knowing he'll be happy with Stacey, the woman who owns his heart.